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little more detail in the curl of the wave behind us. I also couldn’t help but wonder if it was only in my perception that Ally looked almost exactly like my mom and I looked exactly like my dad or if that’s how everyone saw us.
    After I turned seventeen in January, track practice began. I was training to run the mile during the upcoming spring season. Ally played for the freshmen soccer team, and fortunately our practices ended at the same time every day.
    She sat beside me in the front seat as we drove home on a busy four-lane boulevard through Sherman Oaks. I had a slight headache from the mixture of a strenuous track workout and battling heavy traffic during the drive.
    The throbbing in my head suddenly exploded into greater pain than any I’d felt in many years. I immediately knew this headache hadn’t been caused by tension or overexertion at track practice. The tremors were spreading way too fast through my skull, exactly like the headaches from five years earlier.
    My hands began to tremble and cramped out of my control around the steering wheel. When halos of red from the brake lights in front of us blinded me, I slammed my foot on the brake pedal, pushed with all my might, and heard the loud screech of rubber against asphalt.
    “Chase!” my sister screamed from far away.
    *             *             *
    “Murkovin!” a roaring male voice echoes through the hills.
    Rain plummets from the sky, blackened storm clouds churn in place, and my eyes try to adjust to Darkness. I spin to the shout behind me, immediately knowing I’m on the same hill as I’d been when I was twelve. There’s not a doubt in my mind.
    Needles race up my spine when I see the shirtless creature crouched at the base of the hill. Tall with black veins bulging from ghostly white skin, the beast of a man scans the terrain. Wearing only black leathery pants, firm ridges of muscle lining his stomach and chest, he wildly swings a metal spear in one hand.
    His head snaps to me. Long black hair twined with white whips across his face while his empty hand slashes the air in front of him. When his eyes touch mine, shadowy sockets flare blood red. The brute charges up the hill at me.
    I lurch the other way and sprint into the meadow below. A torrent of rain slams against my skin as deafening creaks pierce the air. I see the flailing tree in front of me and try to stop, but my bare feet slip across the slick wet grass.
    A glowing red limb lashes at me, slams into my chest, and hurls me to the ground. As the branch smashes into me again, I jerk my hands up in defense. Blood instantly spurts from gashes torn into my face, neck, and arms. Rolling across the grass, I frantically try to get out of its reach.
    When I stop a few feet away, landing flat on my back, I stare straight up. A monstrous bough high above flexes into a fisted hand. I try to jump to my feet but a blur scoops me from the ground. As we speed away from the tree, silky wisps of black and scarlet brush across my face. A thunderous slam vibrates from behind us, the wooden fist pounding into the ground where, a moment earlier, my body would have been.
    Into the valley we race until we’re outside the range of groping limbs. After we slide to a stop, I’m gently set on the grass. I look up to see the girl I met when I was twelve standing over me—the girl called Sash.
    Her thin arms are barbed with muscular detail as she tightly grasps her spear. Metallic points, steel spikes sticking out the top of a pack slung over her shoulder, flash from behind her head. She peers down at me through radiant amber eyes.
    “Are you injured?” she growls, silver raindrops beading down her hair.
    “A few cuts and bruises,” I answer. “I’ll be fine.”
    Her head jumps up and mine follows. On top of the hill where I stood, a man in the black clothing of Krymzyn, vibrant green hair glittering in the dark, battles the creature. Their steel spears clash before the green-haired